And Death Shall Have No Dominion
by AerisFan
Summary: I've put up Act III. In her heart of hearts, she desired him, wanted him, prayed for his return. But perhaps even love can be mistaken, and the horror of a single blood-stained kiss shall blacken eternity. (End of CB spoilers)
1. Prologus

And Death Shall Have No Dominion

Prologus

Julia?

Why can't I see you, Julia?

Darkness enfolded his senses, a black cloak of midnight that drenched his soul in oblivion. He thrashed and struggled, trying to break free, to escape the confines of that dread darkness, but with each movement he grew weaker, with each gasp of breath the next breath became harder to force into his lungs.

Julia!

Don't leave…me…

Something moved, a trail of energy like a comet flickering at the edge of his senses. He reached for it, but it was so far away, so distant to his…

Self? Do I have a Self?

I_ don't remember! I can't remember!_

His struggles weakened, until finally he lay, silent and still. The darkness was so warm. Why did he want to escape it? It was…

Comfortable.

Yes, that was it. It was comfortable. Like a mother's embrace. Like _her_ embrace. He gave in to it, let it overwhelm him, and as he slipped into it like some smooth oil, he thought he could hear a snatch of song. It sounded like…humming.

I've bled all of that blood away.

Then…why are you still alive?

The apartment door swung gently closed, leaving nothing but the wind blowing in from the broken window. Pale moonlight filtered through, highlighting the broken and bloody corpses.

There were quite a few of them.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The chair in which the man sat was as simple as the room in which he made his residence. It was not for him to engage in luxuries. He had work, important work, and for his mind to be focused, his body must be free of all comforts, all desires.

Three words appeared upon the computer screen in front of him. The flickering and ethereal light turned his face into some sort of Gothic sculpture, emotionless and cold.

And slowly, that unbroken expanse of stone cracked and split into a smile, a ghastly grin of satisfaction. It was the smile of a predator, a beast of the wild in which the instinct to hunt and kill was absolute. He turned off the computer, but the afterimage of those words still burned into his retina.

HE IS AWAKE


	2. Act I

And Death Shall Have No Dominion

Act I

Faye Valentine knew death. It was a part of her job, a part of her life, as close to her as the beating of her own heart. She had seen more corpses in her life then some people saw in a thousand lives. Certainly more corpses than she ever wanted to see. But she had grown, for want of a better word, accustomed to them, accustomed to the ravages that death visited upon the flesh.

That was why, a moment after looking in apartment number 205, she was shocked to find herself vomiting on the plaid carpet that decorated the hallway. She glanced back out of the corner of her eye through the open door, and promptly vomited again, crumpling to her knees and leaning on the wall for support.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

She had first heard of the murders while chasing down another bounty on Mars, a ship thief by the name of Lars Galliengher. She had cornered him in a hole-in-the-wall bar in downtown, and with the gun to his head, he had promised her information on a bounty that would be worth twice his. After she gave him her solemn promise not to turn him in, he had told her everything. An hour later, he was residing in the company of the police, and she was a few thousand woolongs richer. She couldn't afford to be picky.

Apparently, while hiding out in one of the slummier regions of Mars, he had heard a struggle in one of the rooms next to his, where a gang made their headquarters. He had chalked it up to another gang fight and ignored it.

When the wall collapsed, and the eviscerated body of what once was a person flew through, it became a lot harder to ignore. And he saw something through the crumbling plaster of the wall, something standing in the center of the room amidst a pile of corpses. It was human; at least, he assumed it was. It was very dark, and he was not in the best frame of mind for a scientific analysis, but it was shaped like a person, and that was about all he noticed before he ran like hell.

He had finished his story, and she had asked, as nicely as had been possible given the situation, if that was all he had. He had said yes, and smiled hopefully. She had smiled back.

Then she had snapped the handcuffs on.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Something moved in the dimness of the hall. Her head snapped up, and she brought her gun to bear on the approaching shadow.

Jet Black stepped out of the shadows. She considered shooting him anyway, just for the hell of it, and decided not to.

"You all right?" he asked, in that sympathetic way that made her want to blow things up.

"Took you long enough. Did you find anything?"

Ignoring the sudden change in direction, he sighed.

"Not a whole hell of a lot. The local police believe that someone, most likely a man, is wandering the slums of Mars, killing people. They've nicknamed him 'the Black Death.'"

"Catchy. Well, if they know about him, why aren't they here?"

"Because all he's been killing are poor people. They already have too many of those around here. So, unless he kills someone important, he gets nothing but the slightest attention."

Jet grimaced with disgust, then took a cursory glance through the open door into the room.

Under different circumstances, the look on his face may have been funny. At the moment, though, Faye didn't feel much like laughing. Jet turned away quickly and closed his eyes, trying to keep his gorge down.

"Did you find anything?" he asked, when he trusted himself to speak.

"No, I'm still getting past the throwing up part."

Jet nodded, took a deep breath, and stepped into the room. Faye followed, glad that she had already emptied the contents of her stomach.

If possible, it was worse inside than out. There didn't appear to be a single complete body. All that was left was pieces. Jet began to talk, realized he was making no sound, then tried again.

"Damn, this is horrible. If this was done by a person, he would have to be one of the most vicious bast-"

He stopped, and gave an apologetic glance back in her direction.

Damn him. Damn him and his sympathy.

She turned away from him, and saw the wall the killer had smashed through.

And wedged in one of them cracks were a few tufts of green hair. Very familiar green hair.

For the barest fraction of a second, her brain went into overload, and she nearly blacked out. With an incredible force of will, she looked away. Jet was walking out of the room, shaking his head.

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing. We _could_ have done something useful instead of looking at corpses."

Faye opened her mouth and tried to speak, then realized she would probably scream instead, and closed her mouth again.

They left. As the walked back down the stairs to their waiting ships, Jet wondered at Faye's sudden silence, but decided not to press his luck by asking the reason.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Awake?

Am I awake?

He walked down the crumbling sidewalk, eyes focused on the ground. He could feel something slip from him with each step he took, his essence, his life force, his…very sense of being. Each person that bumped into him prompted a massive thunderbolt of pain to explode inside his head.

He raised one hand in front of his face, unwilling to believe it was still there, still his. The hand shook and trembled as if it wasn't his hand at all. And for the barest fraction of a second, something flashed into his head, a vision of that hand tearing through flesh like butter, sending gouts of blood spraying like geysers into the cool night air.

Hurtshurtshurtsohgodithurts!!!!

He brought both of those sickening, murderous hands to his head and squeezed, squeezed as if he was trying to crush his skull and splatter his brain into nothingness. It-

"You okay, mister?"

The voice burned into his brain, a nail being driven deeper with each breath. He turned as quickly as he felt he could manage, stumbled, then got to his feet.

It was a kid. A boy, no more than ten, looking up at him with a mixture of worry and fear. He tried to smile. Honestly, he did.

It didn't work. What happened instead looked more like a grimace of agony, which was pretty much what it was. The kid backed up a step. He didn't blame him.

He tried to put a comforting hand on the kid's shoulder. It worked, until his hand went through the shoulder and cut the boy in half. Blood sprayed everywhere, coloring the sidewalk a ghastly crimson.

Spike Spiegel screamed.


	3. Act II

And Death Shall Have No Dominion

Act II

The man in white frowned as he flipped through the papers in his hand. His information gathering was more than up to snuff, and every movement made by the subject was tracked down to the smallest detail. Nothing would get past them.

But still…

Something troubled him about the latest report. The subject seemed to be regaining coherence more and more often. Mental instability, perhaps. Well, it really didn't matter. As long as their subject continued to slake his thirst for blood, everything was fine.

Just fine.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The best thing about having a spaceship crowded with weirdoes, Faye decided, was that it was never quiet. No endless moments of awkward silence stretching out into infinity. You never had to be looked at the way Jet looked at her, as if she was a pane of glass that was about to shatter.

Dinner was the worst. Those hideously long moments of doing nothing but eating; not talking, not looking at each other, barely even living.

She lay back against the cold metal of the ship wall, trying to decide if killing herself would be a cop-out. He had left her. Again. But this time, he wasn't going to be coming back, not even wrapped in bandages and beaten up beyond all recognition. He was…gone.

"You aren't eating anything." Jet said. She looked down, and realized that he was right. For some reason, that pissed her off.

"I'm just trying to show some respect for my health!"

He flinched. He never used to flinch like that before. Before…

When she heard the steps coming down the hall, for one pathetic moment she allowed herself to hope it was him, coming back.

It was Jet. He looked at her with a look of such pity that she would have gladly strangled him if she had had the strength to move. She brought the back of her arm across her face, trying to wipe the tears away.

"I'm sorry." She wasn't sure if she was or not, but it was best to be polite.

"What do you want to do…about the bounty? The Black Death?"

She saw for a moment, in the back of her mind, those tiny, utterly meaningless tufts of green hair.

He picked her up gently, holding her as if she were a child. And for a moment, like a child, she allowed herself to be carried. He opened the door to her room, and slowly set her down on her bed. It smelled like…failure. And that was just what she was.

It was fitting.

"We…let's follow the damn thing, wherever it goes."

"He left me."

"He had to."

"He left me."

Jet sighed, and gently brushed away the fresh tears that trickled down the side of her face.

"I won't."

She stood up suddenly, startling Jet.

"I'm going to bed."

"Good night."

"I doubt it." And with that, she left.

Her bed still reeked of failure. She felt it would never go away.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The alley was splashed with blood, massive gouts of gore that painted the walls a hideous red. Slumped in the center of the macabre portrait was Spike Spiegel.

He lay back against the wall, his body riddled with bullets and dripping with blood.

The man paused at the entrance to the alley, then walked slowly towards the crumpled figure, his gun held out before him. He stopped in front of Spike and bent down, his fingers trying to find a pulse on the broken man's blood-slicked throat.

Spike's eyes opened.

The man screamed and brought his gun to bear. Spike's hand flashed out and pulled the gun away, taking the man's arm with it. Blood sprayed everywhere. Then Spike tackled him, driving the already dying man to the ground. In his final moments of life, the man tried to scream.

He stopped when Spike ate his throat.

Tearing off massive chunks of flesh, Spike devoured the man's neck, drinking his blood like some sweet ambrosia. He ate greedily and noisily, try to fulfill a hideous hunger that ate at the very fabric of his being, that could not be contained any longer. The voice in his head was silent, blessedly silent.

Tears fell from his face and into the rapidly widening pool of blood.


	4. Act III

And Death Shall Have No Dominion

Act III

The infinite vista of space stretched out before Jet Black, and as he gazed out into the swirling effigy of darkness and light, he felt only one thing.

Boredom.

He flicked the cigarette from his mouth and watched the white tube spiral slowly away in the light gravity.

"Come on, Bob." He said to the man sitting in the screen in front of him. "If you don't have anything, don't waste my time."

Bob sighed, and looked up resignedly.

"I do have some information. But…it's next to nothing. Like I said before, the police don't handle this crap."

Jet waited, as patiently as could be managed under the circumstances, then cleared his throat.

"Tell me."

Bob shrugged.

"Apparently, when the police refused to step forward and take care of your bounty, the people decided to take care of it themselves."

Jet cocked an eyebrow.

"A militia?"

"Pretty much. They found the bounty, and apparently shot him several times. However, they can't find the body."

"What?"

"Just like I said. They've searched the entire slum over, and they haven't found a thing."

"Could he…"

"No way in hell. The people questioned said the bullets they put into him would've killed a man twice his size."

"Did you get a description?"

"Nope. It was dark when they found him, and the shooters say he moved way too fast to get a good description. All they could say was that he was tall and pretty thin. And that's all I got."

"Thanks, Bob. I owe you one."

Bob smiled.

"Oh, I'd say you owe me more than that." And the monitor flickered into darkness.

Jet looked up into the infinite boredom of space and sighed. Behind him, half-hidden in the darkness, Faye Valentine slipped away.

He never even heard the ship start up.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Faye had always been under the impression that understanding who she was would make her feel like she belonged somewhere, like her life had purpose.

If anything, it did the opposite. Now that she knew what she had once been, it was an incredibly bitter blow to realize she could never be that again.

She would always be…alone.

No! Dammit, so what if she was alone?! She had been alone ever since she woke up in that shithole of a hospital!

But she didn't want to be alone. She wanted to belong somewhere. She wanted to belong to someone.

To him?

She didn't know. Her feelings towards him…it wasn't like anything she had ever felt before. It was like dying and living at the same time, an endless morass of feelings that threatened to drown her just as they buoyed her up into the light.

What does it matter now? The idiot's dead now.

But there were those tufts of hair…and that certainty, growing every moment, that he was not yet gone forever from her life.

The Redtail flew onward towards the rising sun.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The rain gushed down from the heavens, an endless cascade of water that threatened to drown the foolhardy people who still walked the streets.

Faye watched the rain through the window and sighed. She stood in the room where she had first become acquainted with the man know as "the Black Death," and it remained her sole link with the killer, a link she doubted very highly would pan out.

Behind her, the man holding the gun shifted slightly and grunted.

"You seen everything you need to?" His voice was none too kind, but it hardly bothered Faye. It wasn't like she had ever truly been spoken kindly to by anyone.

She continued to stare out into the rain. The militiaman behind her sighed, and laid his gun against the wall. He wasn't happy with this dead-end job. He hadn't known any of the dead people, and when he was all but forced to join this damn vigilante group, the only thing that kept him going was the promise of some serious artillery. And now, his entire job was to sit on his ass and watch the scene of some week-old crime, hoping that something would happen.

When something did, he was too busy hating his life to notice. It became a lot easier to notice when a hand tore through his neck and ripped off his head.

Faye heard the noise and turned around just in time to catch the full spray of blood in her face. Through the curtain of crimson, she saw a shadow moving, impossibly quickly, to attack. She raised her gun and fired twice before her attacker slammed into her, knocking them both out the broken window in a shattering cascade of plaster dust and glass. She hit the fire escape a story down with a crunch that nearly made her black out. The only thing that kept her conscious was the knowledge that death would claim her the moment she closed her eyes.

She lunged to her feet, gun raised, only to find herself alone. Nothing moved save the rustle of trash caught in the rusted metal bars of the fire escape. Nothing…

She almost didn't duck in time. Something flashed over her head, blindingly fast, and tore a massive chunk from the brick wall in front of her. Then she was moving, yanked by some unseen force and thrown into the void like a rag doll.

She fell. Her arms scrabbled madly for purchase and found none, she felt a scream burst forth from her lips and bit it back, and she remembered that she had fallen from the 20th floor. She was going to die.

With one final desperate clawing motion, she reached out…and her arm was nearly torn out of her socket as she caught the railing of the fire escape. She was yanked into the wall by her own inertia, and she felt her ribs crack as the breath was torn out of her body. Her gun nearly fell from her grip, but with strength born of desperation, she managed to hold on to it. She hung there for a moment, trying to stay conscious, and then, slowly, she looked up.

She had fallen at least ten stories. High above her, a shadow looked down over the balcony. It was impossible to tell whom it was; the sun was in her eyes and she was too far down. She grinned, and a trickle of blood ran down her chin.

Then she let go.

At the same time, she snapped her gun up and fired twice. She heard a gasp of pain, and the shadow disappeared. Then she hit the ground, smashing into a pile of refuse and garbage strewn about the alley. She blacked out.

When she opened her eyes again, he was standing above her. She nearly screamed. Scrabbling madly, she tried to get to her feet, but could not find the strength. She crumpled back into the garbage. She looked to either side and saw that the garbage surrounding her was splattered with blood. Apparently, she had been hurt more than she realized.

The shadow standing above her shifted, then bent down. Finally, she could see his face.

It was Spike.

She cried as he began to lick the blood from her face.


End file.
